Kanden hugged himself in the crowd in the cavern reserved for rations, a hollowed out cave as wide as it was tall. The solar lights barely functioned in this section of the Underground, having fallen into disrepair years ago with hardly anyone qualified to fix them. They flickered in the open space, casting a strong effect on the crowd like ancient festivities once held in the Overland instead of properly illuminating the area reserved for rations.

Surfaces consisting of crates, uneven tables with wobbling legs, and barrels formed an ordered row along the stone walls, and workers stood behind them, handing the weekly supplies with glazed eyes, frowns perpetually curved downward, and bored voices calling for the next person in line.

The influx of hundreds of citizens crammed into a space, emanating an unwashed stench mixed with sweat and odors associated with their professions made worse by the stifling heat of so many bodies pressed together. The suffering was made especially bad by whomever had expelled that silent fart somewhere ahead of Kanden, triggering the urge to vomit.

Lifting his semi-clean tunic over his nose, he gagged. "I hate ration day," he grumbled, keeping close to Ryker, his boyfriend of nearly two years. They'd met at the entrance and agreed to brave the lines together since the latter received more to take with him to the infirmary where he worked. The loads tended to be heavy, and with limited space, no one had the luxury of a cart. Not that many of those existed, and the few working aforementioned items in working condition were reserved for jobs such as mining and foraging in the deep terrestrial bunker. This left only the option to carry the provisions, all in one trip.

Cheerful as ever, the taller man squeezed Kanden's hand and shrugged. "It'll be over soon. We're nearly to the front, and we'll be back into tunnels in no time. Thanks for coming with me, by the way. I know crowds aren't your thing."

Never had been, and Kanden avoided groups larger than three whenever possible. His mother usually picked up their share of rations, but had been tied up in her monthly inventory at the infirmary, sending Ryker in her stead for supplies. Father was busy with his own work as the head of security, overseeing the swelling crowd, leaving Kanden on his own to receive the family's supply. And even if the old codger had been available, Kanden wouldn't have asked if his life depended on it. That man was more volatile than acidic water, never having a kind thought or word on his mind, and often sent people fleeing in the opposite direction.

"Don't mention it," he muttered, staggering forward and unconsciously rubbing the tingling area of skin where someone behind had bumped into him.

The line crawled at a painful pace, with people jostling to take their things or squeeze toward the exit. If the crowd grew any larger, Kanden had no doubt his small frame would be crushed or trampled, lost among a sea of dusty feet and sharp elbows. A fight broke out here and there over accusations of stealing, and arguments ensued with the distributors regarding unfair portions, requiring enforcer intervention.

Once the first set of tables came into view, Kanden sighed in relief. Almost there.

"What do you think they'll have for us this week?" Ryker wondered aloud, tugging Kanden close and resting a relaxed arm around his waist. "Anything good from the recent harvests?"

"Not likely," Kanden mumbled with a sigh. The previous two weeks at the conservatory had been somewhat slow between crops and low yields. By no means was there a shortage of food; however, with slim pickings before the fruit season, everyone from the lowest worker to the Founding Families and Council members were left with grain, quick-growing vegetables, and edible plants. The greenhouse was large, built to survive the Underground, but it didn't come with unlimited supply and space.

As they inched closer, a gentle, yet unfamiliar hand tapped Kanden's shoulder, making him jump and stagger into Ryker. Someone else stumbled ahead of them and shot the pair a dirty look, but Kanden ignored them, concentrating instead of the imposing woman beside him.

Sabre Garasone, an elite Founding Family descendent and member of the Council overseeing rations and supply, towered over him. Not that it was a feat — most people surpassed his height, but she nearly matched Father's height, and that man was a giant.

Silver and black hair tied into a bun accented her cheekbones and jaw, both sharp enough to cut someone in half. The image brought a pair of knives to mind, accompanied by a disturbing chopping noise against a cutting board from the way she watched him behind her shrewd ice-blue gaze. Her smile didn't reach her eyes, curving upward like a predator cornering its prey, though she kept her tone light and airy. "Calvorite," she said, addressing him by his surname. "You should be at your family's designated table."

With the rest of the high-borns. She didn't need to voice the snobby thoughts written plainly across her face. Founding Families weren't supposed to mingle in lines with the lower classes.

Ryker's hand slipped from his waist as Kanden felt his boyfriend turn away and go rigid. He'd never say it, but the latter knew the class distinction bothered him. Even underground, those in charge wanted everyone else to know their place.

Kanden sighed and edged closer to Ryker, unwilling to release his life line. He didn't do well in large open spaces, and going alone while everyone's eyes zeroed in on him made him fidgety and uncomfortable. At least with Ryker's presence, he could use him as a buffer to distract him from his anxiety around so many people. "I really don't mind the wait," he lied, averting his gaze to the floor. His feet shifted on the cracked ground, kicking dust over his cloth boots.

Ignoring his feeble protest, she closed her hand around his arm in an iron grip and led him away, causing him to trip. She was surprisingly strong, and her fingers pinched the skin beneath the fabric of his sleeve. "Come on."

It wasn't a request, and as he'd predicted, several people turned to watch as the lithe woman dragged him as if he weighed nothing more than a straw pillow. Knowing better than to protest against a government official, Ryker left Kanden to his fate while others their age snickered at the embarrassing attention he garnered.

"Honestly, I will never understand why you associate with that boy," she muttered. "Talented healer, but a bit beneath your family, don't you think?"

Heat, righteous and angry, exploded in his cheeks. How dare she? Digging his heels into the unforgiving earth, he halted their progress at the cost of her taking his arm too hard, and snapped in a belligerent whisper, "That is none of your damn business, Madam Garasone." If he'd wanted a lecture on status, he'd hang around his family's unit and listen to one of Father's rants. This woman had no right to judge him for his chosen companions.

A one syllabled chuckle escaped her lips, and she released him, maintaining a pleasant smile that sent chills down Kanden's spine. She tended to show the public her compassionate side, but Kanden had never liked or trusted her, regardless of her friendship with Mother.

In a repulsive motherly fashion, she tipped her head sideways as if offering him friendly advice, yet condescension laced her measured words. "You realize your father is here in this crowd. What would he say about your indignation?"

Like you care. Rubbing his arm, he shot her a glare, but kept his annoyed thoughts to himself. Forcing his tone into a polite inflection, he replied, "I was helping Ryker since Mother is on a shift at the infirmary."

Her eyebrows lifted in amusement as she folded her bony arms across her chest. Those elbows could do more than cut someone; they could take an eye out. Tapping her fingers on her opposite forearm, she asked, "So you're going to carry three bags of rations meant for your family, as well as your boyfriend's medical and family supplies?"

Bitch.

"Just the medicine. Herbs don't weigh anything."

She shook her head once and shrugged as if deciding their tête-à-tête wasn't worth the effort. "Very well. Come with me."

Rather than argue, he dutifully followed her to an equally ragged table, but with no one in line and larger packs of rations than everyone else's meager portions at the other stations. A prickly sensation on his neck made him turn toward the far wall's exit, where Father stood tall like a sculpted statue, observing him with narrowed eyes as if to ask in disapproval, 'What now?'

Kanden averted his attention back to the ground, refusing to make eye contact with anyone as he waited.

Sabre glided around the table and hefted three bags onto the surface with a thump before clearing his throat. When Kanden lifted his head, her features softened into something less terrifying than her previous disdain. "Sweetie, I was only trying to help. I know you care about that boy, but we're different from everyone else. We have responsibilities the population could never fathom, no matter how much they believe otherwise. The Founders led our people here and staved off extinction in an unforgiving world, and it's our duty to keep society thriving until we can reach the surface again. You understand that, don't you?"

He uttered a soft sigh and nodded. Conversations with anyone from elite families mentally exhausted him, and they weren't worth his frustration. "Yes, Madam Garasone. I'll bear that in mind."

"Good boy." Shoving the bags toward him, she continued speaking in a cheerful tone as if she hadn't just completely belittled him. "Pack in the middle is yours. Left with the black patch is your father's; the one with green straps are for your mother. I've included some extra herbs and food rich in protein for yours. You're looking a little thin."

He didn't care much for herbal tea, and decided he'd give it to Ryker rather than let it go to waste. Nodding his thanks, Kanden shrugged into his pack before hooking the other on each shoulder. They were heavy, threatening to topple him over from gravity and sheer size, but he managed before turning and slowly making his way toward the tunnels, where he decided he'd wait for Ryker.

On his way out, Father coughed, and Kanden pursed his lips before slowly turning in an attempt not to fall.

The men appraised each other with annoyance, each scowling before Father finally asked, "What was that about?" No, 'Hey, son, that looks heavy; can I help with my own shit?' Just, 'What now?'

His assessment was perhaps unfair, given his parents were both working, and he himself was not, but this load was heavy, and the Founding Families — Father and Sabre in particular — both grated on his last nerve.

Adjusting the straps digging into his skin, Kanden pretended the packs didn't bother him. He didn't need anyone insulting him for his lack of physical strength on top of everything else. "Just Garasone asking what we need."

Father only shook his head, already uninterested as he scanned the crowd. "Whatever. Get those home and attend to your duties." Fixing him with a brief glance, he added, "Stay out of trouble. Not that the elections matter, but Everhill has been a pain in the ass, lobbying for better qualified officials." Father rolled his eyes and scoffed. "As if anyone could understand the true issues," he muttered, almost as if Kanden weren't present.

Lifting an eyebrow, Kanden shuffled away, both curious and unwilling to ask questions, lest the man begin a political rant. Once in the corridors and out of Father's earshot, he lowered himself to the ground for a breather. His bags still weighed him down but removing them came with the risk of someone attempting to filch the extra rations and take off. Hence the need for heavy security. Despite a harsh penalty, people stole if it meant more comfort, following the only rule of lower Underground society: worth the risk, but don't get caught.

Several minutes passed with dozens of footsteps coming to and fro — each person ignoring Kanden as they traveled to their quarters and jobs to unload their packs. A set of legs stopped short of him, only paces away, and Kanden looked up, ready to accompany Ryker home until recognition set in.

Blaze Everhill, son of Father's declared pain in the ass and Kanden's childhood nemesis, carried a single bag as he leaned his hip against the wall and sneered. "Look at you with all that food. I don't suppose you feel like sharing with the rest of us lowly peasants."

Why did the universe hate Kanden? And for the love of everything good, were Blaze's theatrics necessary. Theater died with the incoming apocalypse two hundred years ago. The only show anyone saw these days was a public execution. As for dinner? That depended on a person's constitution after bearing witness to the event.

Don't show your adversaries your fear, Father used to say. Never give into their taunts, or they've already won. No one gets angrier than an aggressor being ignored.

Logical as the words were, Kanden hated having his ass handed to him, which almost always happened when Blaze got him alone.

Swiveling his head from left to right and seeing no one readily available to buy him time, Kanden tensed his shoulders and clung to his bags in case the other man decided to try something. Worst case scenario, he'd drag Kanden several feet before rescue arrived, but then the latter would have to explain why he was fighting over rations that didn't belong to him.

"Tell your dad to feed you then," he sniped, suddenly regretting his choice of words. He should have just remained silent.

Blaze's malicious smile slid off his face, and he stomped on Kanden's hand before kneeling. Unable to react fast enough, Kanden gritted his teeth while the other young man glared and punched him in the ribs before retreating a few steps. "Maybe he would if our corrupt leadership stopped starving us," he hissed. "Dad is coming for Cavorite's chair on the Council, and once he's in power, I'll make sure you're the first person to suffer."

He stormed away before Kanden could produce a sarcastic retort, leaving him to shake out his throbbing hand now covered in what appeared to be waste left from Blaze's boot.

Bastard.

Within minutes, Ryker appeared, casting his boyfriend a perplexed frown through a raised brow as he carried four bags — two for him and his mother, and two for the infirmary. "What the hell happened?"

Having no other choice but to wipe the substance on the bottom of his trouser leg — clothes he'd just washed less than two days ago — Kanden used the wall to push himself to his feet and groaned. "Blaze happened. You got what you need?"

Part of him felt guilty for being short-tempered but had their roles been reversed, he didn't think he'd have abandoned Ryker to the wolves without at least a compassionate glance. Something to indicate he understood even though he couldn't do anything about the situation. But he reminded himself Ryker didn't like confrontation, preferring to ignore the problem and examine his emotions later, preferably after a long period of thinking about nothing.

Ryker seemed to read Kanden's mind because his face fell, and he adjusted his bags while staring somewhere to the side. "Sorry. I know you wanted me to say something back there, but what's the point? Sabre would have made an example of me in front of everyone, and we both know you'd never hear the end of it from Bastion."

Well, damn, when he put it that way, Kanden's issues seemed far less trivial. Unlike Ryker, he was privileged through luck, despite everyone's disdain for his physical tics, personality quirks, and flagrant disregard for societal norms. Not just from the Founding Family and Council, but literally everyone. Ryker might have had the love of the people and significantly more friends, yet the upper classes constantly reminded him of the disproportionate balance between the governing few and beaten many.

Too ashamed to speak, Kanden dipped his head and slowly moved through the corridor with Ryker joining him and matching his stride. Tense silence surrounded them, broken by the slapping of boots on the ground and occasional drip drop of moisture on stalactites splashing in hidden corners.

Neither said anything the entire way back to their quarters, each lost in their thoughts and parting ways to store their supplies. Kanden washed his hands and changed into his only other set of fresh civilian clothes before leaving for the infirmary. He had to work the night shift in the greenhouse, aerating the soil and pulling weeds, and he'd be damned if he left things sour between them. The event would fester in the back of his mind until he went mad with anxiety, constantly wondering how Ryker felt or if he was overthinking again like everyone said he was prone to do in any situation. Then he'd feel stupid later for worrying, and worse for being clingy.

It was a vicious cycle.

He'd meant to head toward the clinic straight away, but made the mistake of sitting on his small bunk and closing his eyes. It wasn't until Father shook him hours later, still dressed in his uniform that Kanden realized he'd fallen asleep. "I swear, I didn't steal the good brew," he mumbled in delirium, bolting upward at the unexpected touch. "The apples are all in the bucket!"

Father's unexpected chortle sent Kanden bolting upright in alarm. "It wasn't me!" He didn't realize his dad knew how to laugh. That required smiling.

The mirth faded just as quickly, and Kanden knew the moment had been too good to be true. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned before swinging his feet around the side of the bed. "Am I late for my shift?"

Father shook his head, blinking with the weary eyes of a man who'd spent his entire day on his feet and hadn't slept for a week. "You aren't going in tonight."

"Eh?" Kanden had been halfway out of bed, pausing to tilt his head. "Am I in trouble for something?" Sabre had probably mentioned his insolence, but Father didn't seem particularly upset. Tired, and perhaps troubled, but not wearing the annoyance that preceded their usual shouting matches.

He shook his head and strode toward the door, turning to face Kanden once he reached the frame. "I'm not sure what's happening, but your mother and Ryker declared a quarantine. Apparently, people have been turning up sick the past few days with high fevers and flu-like symptoms. Given where everyone was this morning and how much we all interacted, the council wants to contain the sickness before it gets out of hand."

"Are you sure it's the flu though?" Kanden asked, hugging his stomach as he recounted all the people crammed into the one area, passing their germs to each other as they touched things and breathed on each other. He didn't recall anyone exhibiting symptoms, but he'd been too wrapped up in his anxiety to pay attention to his surroundings.

Father shrugged. "Probably a common cold that's worse than usual. I wouldn't worry."

Easy for him to say. Kanden fretted over everything. More than that, his gut twisted with the sensation that something much worse than a cold was afoot. As he kicked off his boots he'd forgotten to remove earlier, he wrapped his thin blanket around his shoulders and leaned against the wall connected to the bunk, wishing he'd cleared the air with Ryker sooner.

It'll be okay, he told himself. People get sick all the time.

With some medicine and enough rest, everyone would be back on their feet in no time. Ryker and Kanden would make up, have a laugh, and go about business as usual. It was all just a precaution; nothing more.